


deep cover

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: A mess really, Hotline Miami AU, M/M, mentions of violence but nothing really graphic, short and dumb, you dont have to understand hotline miami per se
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 02:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16008551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan’s the biggest sweetheart Kyle has ever known in his life, but he’s also a killer. Kyle can’t pretend he’s not. Kyle also can’t pretend he really minds, though.





	deep cover

**Author's Note:**

> i've tried to write it so you can understand even if you have no idea what hotline miami is!   
> named after my favourite song from hotline miami
> 
> there is mentions of violence of course but it's not in depth or detailed.   
> maybe i'll expand upon this one day but probably not lol  
> the plot is admittedly minimal its not my best work

Kyle’s not stupid- he knows what Stan does. He’s sure Stan knows that he knows, too, but he still tries to hide it anyway. It’s pretty hard to hide that you’re a hitman from your boyfriend who you just happened to meet in the middle of a job, though. He doesn’t remember too much of what happened on their meeting, just that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t feel his limbs, his brain felt like it had been coated in a thick layer of honey and he was swimming in and out of consciousness with no clue where he was or how he got there. One minute he was collapsed on the cold hardwood floor, desperately clinging to his last shreds of rational thought and the next minute he was being carried out by a man wearing a rooster mask. A lot of that night and the following days were lost on him, but he could remember the sharp metallic smell of blood and gore clear as day. 

Stan had nursed him to the best of his ability, providing a vomit bucket when needed and a new damp flannel here or there. Turns out whatever he’d been slipped had really done a number on his system. He probably should’ve been taken to hospital- but this was Stan. He couldn’t exactly arrive covered in blood fresh off a massacre scene and clutching a drugged out Kyle then expect to get away without any suspicion. Eventually, Kyle had pulled through. The initial state of Stan’s shitty apartment had been, to be blunt, pretty disgusting. Countless takeout boxes, shirts strewn everywhere, newspaper clippings (all revolving around a masked vigilante’s recent mafia massacres) piled up everywhere and a general layer of dust and grime covering most of the apartment made for a pretty gross place. If he wasn’t so thankful for the rescue, he might’ve beaten Stan senseless for keeping him in there for over a second. Initially, upon recovery, Kyle had planned to offer his thanks and clear out immediately. But looking at Stan, passed out cold with his greasy hair flattened from being hidden under his rooster mask all night, surrounded by empty takeout boxes and beer cans- he couldn’t do it. Whether out of a need to repay him or a deep pity for his sad existence, Kyle couldn’t just leave him there. So he’d stuck around. Stan hadn’t seemed to mind- he came off as somewhat lonely anyway. 

His plan had been to whip Stan’s life into shape, teach him what regular showers meant and then to leave. Pretty successful. Except for the leaving part of course. Kyle kept Stan’s tirade of grime at bay and pretended not to notice the baseball bat shoved in Stan’s umbrella stand, nor the suspicious phone calls. He especially pretended to not notice the subsequent news reports of murder that came the day after. Eventually, he was just searching for excuses to stay- not that Stan ever asked him to leave. If anything, Stan asked him to stay. Multiple times. Drunkenly hanging onto Kyle’s side at 3am with dried bloodstains soaked into his letterman. Halfway out the door, clutching his baseball bat after a call from ‘Tim’ at the bakery. Whispered while Kyle pretended to sleep as Stan re-entered the apartment at midnight, bringing with him that familiarly sharp metallic smell. Stan would always say ‘You’ll still be here, right?’ and Kyle would always nod in response. They’d never actually progressed through the stages of friendship into a relationship, or really even actively changed the way they acted. It just sort of blended into what it is now and when Stan had called Kyle his boyfriend at first, Kyle had been happy to hear it. 

So this chain of events landed them where they were now. Stan now kept the baseball bat stuffed in a shoebox under their bed, along with his rooster mask and newspaper clippings. Kyle pretended they weren’t there and pointedly flickered away from the news channel when it came up. It was less of an unbearable secret and more of an inconvenient fact that they simply danced around. Kyle supposes he should be more scared- the same arms that wrap protectively around his waist at night have caved in the skulls of a dozen men and choked out a dozen more. The eyes that stare warmly into his own every time he half-heartedly scolds Stan on his eating habits are also the eyes that stare down at a new round of criminals every night, bat raised. The hand that lazily envelops Kyle’s own right now is slightly misshapen, covered in scars with crooked fingers from frequent fractures that Kyle never questions the origins of. Stan’s the biggest sweetheart Kyle has ever known in his life, but he’s also a killer. Kyle can’t pretend he’s not. Kyle also can’t pretend he really minds, though. Their shitty neon clock flickers into 01:24AM, casting a garish green light over their bedroom walls, cracked and yellowed with age. 

“Stan?” He whispers, not really expecting an answer. However, he gets a half-awake mumble and a squeeze in the hand as a response. Stan probably won’t even recall the conversation in the morning, yet he continues on anyway. 

 

“You know I don’t mind, right? Your whole.. Hitman thing. You’re pretty terrible at pretending that’s not what you do, dude.” If Stan was struggling to stay awake before, he’s wide awake now, leaning up against his elbow to look down at Kyle. He can’t see Stan’s face in the darkness, but he can guess that his expression lies somewhere between guilty and sheepish. 

“You don’t have to act like you’re okay with it, Kyle. Sometimes I’m not even okay with it. It’s okay if you’re uncomfortable about it- that’s pretty understandable.” Stan quietly offers in response, slowly leaning back to lie down again and stare at the ceiling. 

“But I’m not acting!” Stan almost looks like he’s going to say something against his argument, but Kyle continues on. 

“Do you like hurting people, Stan? Or do you only hurt criminals?” There’s a pause, punctuated by a deep sigh on Stan’s part. 

“I mean.. I wouldn’t ever knowingly hurt someone innocent, if that’s what you’re asking. I just hurt whoever I’m told to. I’m just lucky that 99% of the time, they deserve it. I don’t really like doing it. I just… I don’t actively hate it either.” He turns from the ceiling to look at Kyle again, grasping his hand a little tighter. 

“Then I don’t mind. It’s not like you’re killing for sport. You can stop trying to shove your jacket in the washer before I see the blood on it, now. Okay? I really don’t care that much.” He never received a verbal response, instead feeling Stan curl around his back and let go of his hand to wrap his arms around his stomach, pressing his face against the back of Kyle’s neck and nodding. 

The next night, Stan didn’t hesitate or choke out some shitty excuse before yanking off the bloodied rooster mask and presenting his freshly blackened eye to Kyle. He just let out a sigh, leaning back on Kyle’s lap as he held a bag of frozen peas to the bruise gently, verbally lashing Stan for his own idiocy and warning him to be careful next time.


End file.
